


Assistance

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Orgasm, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Dildos, Doctor John Watson, Facial, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Object Removal, Tenderness, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: “I...find myself...in need of your assistance,” he whispered, voice incredibly husky and breath hitching. “As a doctor...”





	Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> HEY GEM!!! Hugeeeee fan of you and Kittyhill when u guys collab on johnlock fics. I had a funny prompt idea if u have the time. Poor Sherlock gets a dildo stuck up his bum and he is super embarrassed but had no choice but to ask John for help, John assists and in the process of course Sherlock gets excited and tries to hide it but he embarrassingly cums you can take it from here!

Being a relatively light sleeper, John stirred, frowned and sat up when the door to his bedroom jerkily opened, the door handle shooting back into place after being gradually pressed down with a shaky pressure. It was Sherlock. Obviously it was Sherlock, who else would it be at such a late hour? John had been pestered and woken up by Sherlock before. Many times before. However the awkward fumble with the door was a new addition, one that brought concern rather than frustration to the forefront of John’s mind. Hand-in-hand with a whirl of adrenaline and alertness that cleared the fog of sleep in an instant wave. Was he injured? Sick? Why hadn’t be spoken? Called out?

He shifted, already slipping his legs over the side of his bed to stand up when Sherlock’s figure shuffled into the room, awkwardly positioned and trembling, and John flicked on the bedside lamp to bathe the rumpled man in light. Sherlock was in his dressing gown, the fabric twisted and tied so clumsily that it barely hid the fact that the man was very, very naked underneath it. The skin of the man’s cheeks, throat and chest were flushed in blotchy uneven patches, a patchwork of pink and rosy flesh. He looked out of sorts, dazed and wide-eyed, and the expression on his face kept changing, kept slackening and tightening, morphing from one emotion to another as he let out a quivering exhale.

As John went to close the distance between them and speak, to ask what was wrong, assuming the man could indeed be sick, with a fever possibly, he became aware of a distant buzzing sound. A sound that was coming from Sherlock. More specifically, from his midsection. There was also a smell. It was musky and dark, with a hint of something sweet at the edges, and John shook his head, bewildered, mouth pursed on a question unsaid and eyebrows lifted.

Sherlock raised an unsteady hand, one slicked with something that glistened in the glow from the lamp, “I...find myself...in need of your assistance,” he whispered, voice incredibly husky and breath hitching. “As a _doctor_...”

John had, obviously, seen these symptoms before, working in A&E had left him with various anecdotes of people who had put things in orifices where they didn't belong, but Sherlock had never struck John as the type. Feeling an odd quiver in his stomach, John squared his shoulders and immediately became clinical with nothing but a blink, “Of course,” John said and quickly flicked on the big, main light of the bedroom, reaching for Sherlock. “What is it that's stuck?”

“Don’t...be _tedious_ ,” Sherlock replied, going for snarky unsuccessfully. His eyelids fluttered and he made a low noise in his throat with a taut twitch of his hips. “Just...get it _out_...”

“Sherlock, I need to know the size of the thing. Is it big? Small? Is it – phallic shaped? Or a long tube? I won't know what I'm looking for otherwise,” John said patiently, taking Sherlock by the wrist and turning him towards the bed. “Right, it might be easier for you to bend over the bed for right now. Hands flat and legs spread, please. You don't have to take off the robe, just pull it up over your bum. I just want to look you over and assess things, in case there is a simpler solution...” Suddenly feeling like this was a surreal dream, John bit his lip to stop himself smiling, turning around so he could bring the lamp closer to the bed for better lighting, and then urging Sherlock nearer.

Sherlock resisted after a few stiff and bungling steps, “ _No_! No—Just reach in, grab it and...pull it out,” he ordered, a droplet of sweat running a shiny path down from his temple. The small curls at his nape were plastered to the darkly flushed skin there, glossy and drenched. “I can’t...do it.” He animatedly motioned with his slicked hands in emphasis and clenched his eyes shut, almost dropping to his knees when they buckled. Thankfully he was able to steady himself just as John hooked an arm around his waist. “I’m _not_ bending. Bend—bending only...makes it... _worse_...”

John inhaled deeply in contemplation, attempting to think of things to calm Sherlock down before he hyperventilated and panicked further. His first reaction was to slide his hands from Sherlock's waist, up to his shoulders, and pull him in for a soft hug. John could feel Sherlock's trembling muscles, and the soaked, sweat drenched skin against his own through the thin, wet robe.

“Okay, right, fine. Lie down on the bed then, on your left side, right leg up so I can see what I'm doing...” John said quietly, pulling out of the embrace and pressing Sherlock towards the bed. “Do you need me to help you get down?”

“Can’t you...” Sherlock trailed off into a broken, gasping few quivers and stumbled sideways, forcing John to grab him again. The buzzing had changed rhythm and speed, and John watched with a wince of sympathy as Sherlock’s eyes rolled and he bucked, keening high and loud before he could stop himself.

In his own mind, John began the process of a treatment plan – John would have to manually retrieve the object (probably a vibrator or dildo judging by the loudness of the buzz. If it had been a smaller toy, it would not have been heard as well) with his fingers, but that left the option of leaving Sherlock to go and grab gloves from downstairs. Something John didn't want to do.

“Okay, it's okay,” John soothed, keeping a tight hold of Sherlock until he got the strength in his limbs back. With careful movements, John shuffled Sherlock to the edge of the bed and then hummed in thought. “You won't be able to sit and twist so you'll have to put your hip down first. I'll help.”

“Do I... _have_ to lie down?” he complained through his gritted teeth, scrambling to untie and then wrestle off his dressing gown. He threw it aside, utterly exposed to John’s eyes and touch, body a long, lean, tensing stretch of flushed skin, moist with both sweat, lube and his own excitement.

John blinked, surprised at the action, then looked up at the ceiling to clear his thoughts. He had never seen Sherlock quite this naked, and he had especially never seen his friend aroused and naked. The thought of Sherlock being sexual at all was quite jarring to John's previous thoughts about his flatmate and friend. He had always thought Sherlock as an innocent, Asexual virgin.

“I – er… we can try with you standing up, if you want, sure,” John garbled, coughing and forcing his mask of clinical confidence and concern once more. “It might be easier to grab if you – y'know – push down like you're on the loo. Let me grab a towel. I want you standing with one leg up if you can?”

John rushed to the washing basket in the corner of his room and pulled out the still damp towel from his evening shower. Putting it on the floor, John looked up and noticed that Sherlock hadn't moved an inch – in fact, it mostly looked like Sherlock was focussed on not forgetting how to breathe.

“Here,” John said, grabbing Sherlock's shoulder and twisting him so he was standing on the towel. “And I need this leg...” he reached for Sherlock's right leg and put it on the frame of his bed so it was slightly bent and John could see the small, tensing opening hidden between Sherlock's buttocks. “So, I'm just going to – put my fingers in. Two, so I can get a better grip. Is that alright?”

“ _Obviously_. I...I...came to you for that... _very_...reason. How else will you get it out of me?” Sherlock mumbled in sarcasm, very faintly slurring some words as he instinctively rocked with the rhythm of the buzzing.

“Sorry, habit,” John grumbled before kneeling by the bed and using one hand to spread Sherlock's cheeks wider. It was awkward and the light wasn't great, but John could hear and feel the buzzing more acutely when he carefully pressed two fingers into Sherlock, thankful for the unending supply of lube, which still dripped down his legs.

Moving incredibly slowly, John pushed his fingers further, feeling the buzzing pest against the pads of his fingers as he fought against the spasm of muscle from Sherlock's rectum, “Try to relax,” John whispered, digging his fingers deeper and grimacing when he nudged the toy directly against Sherlock's prostate, judging from the way he inhaled sharply and twitched up onto his tiptoes. “Sorry!” He hissed in empathy, trying his hardest to steer the toy away from the small spot.

Sherlock wobbled, hips flexing, and reached to grip onto John, digging his fingers into his shoulder, “ _Turn it off_!” he growled. “Th-there’s a...there’s...a thing...a dial... _switch_...use it...”

“Right… switch… switch,” John chanted as he moved his fingers along the shape, finally finding the button. Pressing it with the pad of his index finger, John felt the moment that the motor in the toy sped up, going twice as fast as it had done previously.

With a garbled shout, Sherlock arched up, muscles clenching uncontrollably around John’s fingers, as he thrust forward. The hand he had on John’s shoulder gripped like a vice and then flailed, mussing up John’s hair as he gasped it between his fingers and yanked with both blind passion and clear reprimand.

“ _Sorry_ , sorry, sorry! But it's hard trying to work out which one is which in the bloody _dark_ with the thing stuck up your _arse_!” John griped, thankfully finding the off switch remarkably quickly. Once the humming and buzzing stopped, John felt Sherlock relax and sag in relief now that at least the vibrations were no longer stimulating his insides.

John took a breath, glad Sherlock’s clasp in his hair had loosened, and was as careful as he could muster, pushing his fingers in a little further in an attempt to get a hold of the toy, but to no avail, “Push down?” he asked, feeling when Sherlock weakly started to bear down. “No. No, it's not moving.” Pulling out his fingers, John glanced up at a swaying Sherlock. “You'll have to get on your side.”

Sherlock released him and exhaled in an irritated rush, slowly putting his leg down to recline horizontally across the bed on his side as instructed, tucking his legs up with a grimace of brief embarrassment, and leaving his bottom near the edge. He was still trembling, the toned muscles of his thighs and stomach giving a twinging spasm, but he was a lot looser and languid. A lot calmer. John picked up the towel and wiped his hands before shuffling up to the bed and positioning himself closer. It was awkward and incredibly odd to be staring up his best friends anus, but John forced himself to breathe deeply, pushing his fingers into the lube slicking Sherlock’s thighs again.

“Okay, so this should be a better position. I just need you to keep as loose and relaxed as you can. Enjoy my comfortable, and warm bed,” he said with a quick smile.

Throwing an arm over his own face, Sherlock sighed, shifting only once when John eased his fingers back within him, “Oh yes. It’s _lovely_ ,” he mumbled in a sarcastic tone.

“I know I complain about not having bedmates very often, but this isn't what I meant,” John teased good naturedly, using his other hand to attentively press on Sherlock's abdomen. “Any pain?”

“No,” Sherlock replied, peeking down at John for a moment, cheeks still mottled with a chaotic blush. He swallowed thickly when he finally looked away, covering more of his face with his arm, as his other hand picked and played and stroked at John’s sheets anxiously, although he tried to hide it with a quick, overly annoyed, drumming of his fingertips.

“Won't be long,” John promised, taking hold of Sherlock’s right leg to push it outward and up, opening him a bit more as he pushed his wiggling fingers deeper, trying to grip the slippery toy. It to nudge against Sherlock's prostate again and John gave another hissing apology at the instant tensing quiver that followed. John could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead as he curled his fingers, trying to avoid the prostate but seemingly hitting it each time he moved.

After what seemed like hours – but could have only been a few minutes – John finally managed to grab onto the slick plastic and hold on tight, “ _Ah-ha_! Got the bugger,” John said triumphantly, starting to mindfully inch his way back to Sherlock's opening. “I'm glad you used a lot of lube, but it's certainly tricky to work with.” He almost slipped away from the toy, managing at the last second to keep a firm grip.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed Sherlock’s toes clenching tight and risked a glance up at him, finding him gripping both the bed and his own hair, face crumpled up. He was biting his lip and panting through his nose, skin now a dark red from the top of his nipples to his sweaty forehead. At first John thought it was pain and paused, but the action only made Sherlock go redder and muffle a short whine in pure aggravation.

“ _Hurry up_!” he snapped, arching his head back and giving a quick, wild, roll of his hips.

“ _Hold still_!--And I’m not rushing it and hurting you,” John insisted, fixing his posture in order to pull the toy out slowly. He had to angle it, which caused the tip to press rough and hard against Sherlock's prostate, and he winced, opening his mouth to apologise once more but was cut off by a hoarse cry.

“ _Ah_!--John!” Sherlock grunted, almost kicking out at him as he pushed up onto his elbow and thrust abruptly, without control. He shot a glare John’s way but it was weak and fleeting, and so he dropped back down to cover his face with shaky hands. “ _How_...are you a doctor?”

“I'm sorry but it’s _slippery_!” John grumbled, his free hand moving to Sherlock's hips to hold them tightly still. “It's usually easier with gloves and if the patient is knocked out...” He twisted his hand, watching as the bottom inch slipped out between Sherlock's buttocks.

“I...didn’t...stop you from...getting gloves...” Sherlock’s breathing got louder and faster, and he wheezed and suddenly whimpered as it gradually withdrew, eased by John’s stroking fingers. “Oh... _oh no_...” he muttered, just barely audible.

“What?” John asked, blinking at the colourful toy slowly coming out with the gentle assistance of his hand. There didn't seem to be any blood or tearing, and John was sure that he wasn't causing Sherlock pain, so he looked up at his friends flushed face and chest when Sherlock hadn’t replied. “ _What_? What's wrong?”

Glancing at him, Sherlock made a choked sound and shuddered, unsure what to do with his hands or where to look, “Nuh- _nothing_! Nothing...just...just take it out and _hurry_ up,” he rambled, grimacing, mouth open and a thick, wet, high groan rumbling up his strained throat. John had never heard anything like it.

Frowning, John continued, inching the long, plastic toy out. It seemed never ending and was bigger than John had seen before. He wasn’t even aware they made them as lengthy as this one was. The toy’s thick base slipped to and then off the edge of the mattress as half of it, and then all of it, was glided out to fall at John’s knees with a thump and a roll. John kept his fingers against Sherlock, one just inside, and checked for tears or splits in the sensitive skin with a circling, rubbing caress.

It was at that moment he felt the first flutters and twitches of Sherlock's perineal muscles, and he blinked widely, looking up, confused and wary, “Sherlock?--” The man was in the throes of ecstasy, there was no mistaking it. Sometimes it was difficult to see the differences between pain and pleasure, especially when it came to his often indecipherable friend, however John clearly saw them now.

Frozen to the spot, unable to do more than blink owlishly in the moments that followed, John watched as Sherlock twisted his hips in abandon, almost kneeing John in the face in the process when John snapped out of his stupor and struggled to get up and out of the way. The sudden change in position uncovered the state of his genitals, but John had less than a second to notice how drawn up Sherlock’s testicles were below the hard, red, slicked length of his erection, before the Sherlock was keening in overwhelming and unmistakable climax.

The first arc of ejaculate splattered up the juddering stretch of Sherlock’s torso, yet the second, the third, and part of the fourth, rushed up to meet John’s gawking face. It smeared up his chin hotly, painting the tip of his nose, and then collided with his cheek as he flinched aside.

John, blinking and breathing seeming to be the only things he was able to do, felt the slow, steady drip of the ejaculate on his skin, slicking down to the mattress in long strands. After a few moments of silence, John cleared his throat and wiped the back of his hand over his face, wiping the mess onto the towel before starting to speak, “Er – Sherlock? It's okay… It's – It happens. It's okay.”

Sherlock was shaking with his eyes screwed shut and mouth twisted downward, “ _Liar_ ,” he murmured, still slightly out of it as he tried to push up from the bed. His penis gave another throbbing pulse, oozing pearly white droplets onto his stomach, and he ducked his head in humiliation.

“ _Hey_ ,” John said reaching out for him and grabbing his shoulder to keep him steady as he veered to the side. “Just – lie down for a bit. You're probably a bit dizzy. And I don't blame you for... _it_ , all right? Not at all. That toy had been against your prostate for a while so I'm not surprised you – _went off_.”

Automatically, as if John’s touch, his words, had pressed some button, Sherlock extended unsteady arms to him and leaned forward, falling against John’s body in an awkward, tumbling slouch. His mouth butted into John’s cheek and neck during the motion, dragging uncoordinated, subconsciously instinctive kisses as he dropped his head to John’s shoulder and John felt himself blush from his cheeks to the tip of his ears in response. He certainly hadn't expected this when he had left for bed earlier that evening, and he almost pushed Sherlock back and moved away, but it was obvious that Sherlock, in some way, needed to be reassured. He was exhausted and still trembling hard after his unexpected orgasm and the embarrassment from the whole ordeal had clearly affected him.

“ _Oh_. Okay. Right that's – yep. Okay,” John mumbled, careful to move the vibrator to the bedside table without jostling Sherlock so much. “There's, um, no point in sending you downstairs tonight, your legs will never make it. So...do you want to sleep here? - You should sleep here. I can grab you some pants to wear. Maybe even some pyjama bottoms.”

“...No,” Sherlock mumbled quietly a few seconds later, shying back. “I...I, uh...I’m...thankful for your assistance, John.” He wouldn’t look at him and wringed his hands, cringing into himself and shaking, naked, flushed, and smeared in several sorts of slick.

John sighed in reply and used the towel to dab at Sherlock’s skin, exhaling roughly through his nose in exasperation when Sherlock snatched it from him to clean up himself. As Sherlock wiped his body, John moved to his drawers, taking out some clean underwear, and then rummaged for a spare pair of pyjama trousers, moving back to the bed to offer them out. Sherlock stared and didn’t take them, so John placed them next to him, turned off the main light and climbed back into his once warm spot, nodding to the opposite side of the bed with slightly open arms. It wasn't exactly an invitation for a cuddle, but it wasn't a closed posture which would undoubtedly force Sherlock out, it was just a hesitant and nervous 'come-and-lie-with-me-before-I-think-too-hard' gesture.

“In you get, Sherlock. You better not have cold feet or I'll kick you onto the floor. - Come on, before you collapse on me,” John said with a small smirk.

Sherlock hesitated with a deep frown and flashing, searching, uncertain eyes, and after several seconds of shivering and fidgeting, he slipped off with the towel, still dabbing himself relatively clean, “It’s fine,” he intoned, unsteady on his feet as he bent for his dressing gown and took up the slicked toy. He gave John a quick look, mouth pressed into a tight smile, and then made toward the door. “I...I appreciate it though.”

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John called out before the man could take another step, “Just – come to bed. It's _okay_. Just get dressed.”

John had no idea what he was doing. Offering a bed to your best friend who’d just ejaculated over your face probably wasn't a good idea, but Sherlock seemed so low and defeated that it physically hurt John to see. He wanted to care for Sherlock, and allow the other man to get some rest after the trauma of their evening.

Once again Sherlock hesitated, but thankfully not for as long as before, and he did as John told him, getting dressed in the borrowed boxers and trousers, and then turning off the lamp.

While John’s eyes grew accustomed to the dark he listened to Sherlock shifting around, possibly putting his dressing gown back on, and the gentle thud of the dildo being placed on the bedside table again, something John knew would shock him come morning. The detail of the man’s figure, his silhouette, appeared through the gloom as he knelt up onto the bed and timidly took up the space beside John without a word.

“Are you all right? Very sore?” John asked tenderly, turning on his side so he could look at Sherlock's profile next to him. He had an immediate urge to reach out and touch, but he didn't, instead he simply inched his fingers across the space between them until his pinky finger was touching Sherlock's.

With a jerk of surprise, Sherlock turned his head sharply to look at him, unresponsive for several long, uncomfortable moments, “Yes...a little,” he admitted in a low rumble.

“I should have some cream in the first aid kit. You can use that in the morning,” John said quietly, his voice never wavering as he slid his hand across Sherlock's, palm rubbing against the back of Sherlock's hand before he flipped it and entwined their fingers together reassuringly. “You'll probably struggle to sit down tomorrow. It'll ache for a while too, no doubt.”

“I _know_ that,” Sherlock huffed at him and continued to stare in John’s direction through the semi blackness, shuffling over when John didn’t pull away after a few minutes. He gripped John’s hand back with gathering pressure, clinging and evidently desperate for the contact between them.

John, unsure why he was doing so, went closer and hummed, “I hope you can sleep tonight, my bed isn't as posh as yours, but I imagine you're shattered,” he continued to murmur idly as his toes touched Sherlock's calves gently.

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled, laying his other hand over and around both of theirs.

“And I'll do you a full breakfast tomorrow. A proper one. Bacon and sausage and mushrooms… keep your energy up,” John said as he lifted his other hand up and tangled it in Sherlock's messy curls. Sherlock's hair was slick and sweat damp, but John stroked and coaxed it into a fluffy mess with his fingertips and nails. “I have new jam too.”

Giving a gusty and uneven sigh, Sherlock abruptly surged toward him and pressed into John’s body, slotting himself against his front without letting go of John’s hand in both of his, which he pushed between their chests. It was incredibly ungainly and even a bit uncomfortable, yet Sherlock didn’t seem to mind as he tucked his face into the crook of John’s throat while he flopped weightily on him.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock whispered shakily, voice guttural.

**Author's Note:**

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